


And the choice is yours, if you're willing to choose

by Anonymous



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Age Difference, Alcoholism, Complicated Relationships, Dirty Talk, F/M, Infidelity, Power Imbalance, Unreliable Narrator, for all of 5 seconds, fucked up marriage, religious kink, what do you call visions of your wife while cheating on her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25310674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: She’s circlin’ the bait, contemplating it, because her boy had failed her. She’s got the ticket in hand. Would take the hard work and the sweat of Hadestown before she took the cold of the surface. Her poet couldn’t feed her, only knew to tend to his bacchanalia and to his song. Left her behind to care for the two of them. Left her behind to care for herself.Well, Hades knew a thing or two ‘bout broken promises.
Relationships: Eurydice/Hades (Hadestown), Hades/Persephone (Hadestown)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29
Collections: Anonymous





	And the choice is yours, if you're willing to choose

I

The girl’s hungry, ain’t she. 

She’d been hungry since Hades went and picked his wife from the earth. He’d seen the wanting in her face, in her skinny fingers and in the way she’d stepped closer, chasing after him, almost. Longing for a taste ‘fore her skinny poet-lover took it upon himself to jump between her and Hades’ gaze. Standing firm, with his skinny chest puffed out in some pitiful attempt at bravado. At proving he would protect her.

Well, clearly, he hadn’t done that, had he. 

She’s circlin’ the bait, contemplating it, because her boy had failed her. She’s got the ticket in hand. Would take the hard work and the sweat of Hadestown before she took the cold of the surface. Her poet couldn’t feed her, only knew to tend to his bacchanalia and to his song. Left her behind to care for the two of them. Left her behind to care for _herself_. 

Well, Hades knew a thing or two ‘bout broken promises. Knew a thing or two about hunger, about cold. Wouldn’t be cold or hungry down under. Whatever was needed, Hades could supply. Ain’t like she were askin’ for much.

_Harbor me._

She’s begging, praying for food, for shelter. For _protection._ For _Hades,_ as the fact was that he could provide all of that. Weren’t like he was against taking the poor thing under his arm. She’d been crying out for him since the moment he first laid eyes on her, with her sucked in, skinny sort of frame, and even then, before the winter came, she’d been taking a step forward. Leaning into him. Interested.

Hades liked interest.

That was before he’d even presented his offer to her. Before he’d even had the chance to convince his little songbird to come to feed at his hand, to rest there.

She’d wanted just a taste of that power, and how could Hades blame a hungry young thing like that for her envy? Well, a man hears a sad and lonesome sound like that, he’s mighty inclined to find the source, ain’t he?

The boy hadn’t cared for her none, had he? Just like Hades’ wife, had left their lovers behind to rot, because they had more _important things_ to do. He had just insisted on plucking at his lyre, at ignoring his poor songbird-girl, and left her to the elements, hungry and cold and in desperate need. Stripped of the clothes on her back for somethin’ to fill her poor belly.

Ain’t like Persephone cared a lick anyhow. Said so herself, that she don’t mind if he looks at other girls, now and then. Hardly even bothered her when he took his first glance at the little songbird.

Well, jury was still out on whether it didn’t bother her, or if she was just sayin’ that because she refused to let him believe it bothered her. 

Well, if he caught her when she crossed the threshold of a pleasant high into, well, whatever one could call clinging to Hades’ pillow while she cried into it— it was neither here nor there. He didn’t ask, and she didn’t tell. Probably liked it that way, too. If he did find it in himself to try to care for her, to ask what’s wrong, she would take it upon herself to call him a prying, creepy rattlesnake who enjoyed knowing that she was hurtin’, so long as it was over him.

Fact of the matter was, though, that Hades had been doin’ just _that,_ lookin’. Never touched, never so much as spoke to the girls he glanced at. Hell, he barely even touched his own _wife,_ these days.

Unlike his wife, who danced with any man who so much as opened his arms out at her, so long as it weren’t _Hades._ Would slot herself into their arms, smile at them, and her smile just rattled Hades further, reminding him of what he did not have. Leastways, what he did not have _anymore,_ and he was filled with a vile, venomous sort of jealousy. The reminder of their youth, of her smiles, her warm brown eyes meeting his and there never being even a hint of anger or disgust, or worse yet, _hatred_ from her; it all burned in his heart. 

She was doing it to _spite_ him, he knew that, at least. Leaving him with a chaste kiss to the cheek before spinning ‘round and ‘round with mortal men who could not give her half the things her husband could.

And yet he lost to the mortals, time and time again.

She would step off the train, year after year, just as they had done since the world was new, and somewhere along the years, she had stopped looking back. She never so much as glanced back at the train, if not to Hades.

He misses her little glance back, if not her smile. He missed her love, given freely, her adoration, as had been when they were young. Was that so much of a husband to ask of his wife? 

This year she hardly even looked at him on the train back home. Spent most of her time starin’ out the window and refusing to look at him. Refusing to even breathe in his direction, like he weren’t even worth the effort.

Smacked his hand away when he reached out, tried to touch her. Hadn’t been untoward, hadn’t grabbed her, hadn’t done more than brush his fingers over his wife’s knee and yet she still smacked his hand away, still struck him away like he was a dog chewing at his master’s shoes.

And she had been horrified when she saw his creation. Had all but spit at him at the sight of it. Had scathed him and hollered at him, as though he hadn’t done this all for _her,_ as though his very reason for breathing weren’t to please her, to have her love him. Wasn’t that obvious? That his project had all been to impress her, to show her that he could still provide? Anything, everything she ever wanted, he’d plant it in her hand. 

Well, despite her hollering, she’d still taken him to bed, hadn’t she. 

Had viciously thrown her coat at him, as though it were his fault that she wanted him. As though treating him callously would make her feel less guilty over it-- and she _did_ feel guilty over this, wanting him despite herself. That stung Hades more than he would ever say; Persephone didn’t even feel guilty when she yanked him to the bathroom of Hermes’ ratty bar and got on her knees for him, knowing that anyone coulda walked in, but she felt guilty at the thought of doing this, in her own home, in her own bed. Thought she was betraying the little worker drones by sleeping with the enemy. Even if the enemy was her damn _husband--_ not that one would know it, seeing as she hadn’t even looked at him as she set down her suitcase, and the more vicious part of him knew that she wanted to pretend that he wasn’t her husband anymore.

After all, the way she kissed him had been all teeth and tongue and he could swear to the Styx he ain’t even feel her lips on his, just her teeth at his bottom lip, her tongue pushing into his mouth. Was vicious, she was, just intent on consuming him, and Hades only ever felt like prey where Persephone was concerned. Her hands cupped his throat in a mockery of an intimate embrace, but Hades knew it was a threat. Same way that her fingers brushing through his hair was a threat, same way his hands reaching back to squeeze her ass was a threat, and she was stoked hotter for it, panting against his mouth despite herself. Liked her man’s hands on her, regardless of whether she wanted to admit it or not.

And she liked when Hades took her roughly, too, liked when he took her with her ass in the air, facing away from him, because she didn’t want to see him, but she wanted the pleasure of him. The weight of his chest against her back, his hands keeping her in place as she took his cock. Part of him thrilled at dominating her, at being in charge for once, and yet, _and yet_ it hadn't been what he wanted. It didn't _scratch any itch._ Just frustrated him further once he pulled out and realized that she'd wrung him out without having to share a moment of intimacy with him.

Used to be she actually liked to look at him, though. Would even kiss him in a way that felt like she loved him. Would cup his face as she rode him, and she would praise him with the rise and fall of her hips, in between breathy gasps, and was it such a crime to miss that? 

Persephone had dragged her nails through his scalp and told him to shut up as she shoved his face between her thighs. Part of him knew she was still upset over his threat to leave her. To find someone who would not fight Hades or cause no trouble, and he knew that the rage was boiling in her gut and her heart was wounded, even if she wouldn't say it.

“You don’t love me.” She gasped as Hades dragged his tongue over her slit, because she liked to be teased, but she didn’t seem to want to bother with it today. Just spread her legs wider, and he got her message loud and clear. Didn’t bother to take her comment to heart, she announced his apparent lack of love for her every time he got his tongue on her cunt. Didn’t bother arguing at this point, because he didn’t need to; it was hardly _news._ She said it to comfort herself, make herself feel better about what she was doing.

After all, what man who did not love his wife would be burying his face between her thighs, would be lapping up the wetness of her like a hound gnawed a bone?

Persephone moaned as he reached up, squeezing at her breast, and oh, she was not wearing much beneath her dress. Hades supposed she had come home planning for this. He pulled down the hem of her bodice, and pinched at her nipple, and she made a desperate noise that sounded like it belonged more to a hungry animal than it did his wife, queen of the third estate. He wished that he could snark at her for it, like he used to. _Is Persephone still up there?_

He also knows that he would not be able to prevent the snark from coming out as something meaner, even if he wanted it to be playful. _Does your procession know that for all your hemming and hawing, you still spread your legs for me?_

Hades sucked at her clit, and she wriggled beneath his lips, because he knew she liked that. Always wriggled her hips when he did something she liked, and Hades loved that little motion more than anything. Liked how she would make a gravely sort of whine under her breath as he put his mouth to what she called good use. How she would push him down harder, not because he weren’t close enough, but because she was so damn desperate for him that she needed more, needed to keep him there.

It was not a suitable replacement for her smile, but pleasing her in any way would have to do, wouldn’t it. Her rocking her hips back onto his tongue would have to make up for the warmth of her arms around him. Her guttural moans would have to make up for her laughter.

That’s what desperate men do. And when she referred to him as such, and he snorted like a bull, pulling back for a moment, and she squeezed her thighs around his head, holding onto him. It’s the only time she ever holds onto him. “Don’t act offended, old man.” She sounded out of breath, and Hades had the succinct pleasure of knowing he’d done that to her. Outdoor girl can’t keep up with her snake-oil man, with his slick smile and slicker tongue.

“‘m the one who’s doin’ all the _work_ —” He growls, and she takes him by the back of the head, and pushes him back down, and she whimpered as he parted her labia with his fingers, dragging his tongue up along the length of her.

Hades was simply a man making do.

He’d been making do for so _long._ Couldn’t be blamed for wanting more than to feed off scraps when he had been used to so much _more._

The songbird had been a poorly thought out gamble, though. He weren’t even sure that she would bite. Hadn’t even been sure that she would listen to him when he followed her into the dark and cold of the woods, even when he curled into the depths of her desperate psyche. But he tried anyhow, because when Hades said he might find himself someone else, well, Hades never made threats he couldn’t keep. Never bluffed, Hades. Always followed through, for better or for worse. Which was more than Persephone could say.

And the girl had taken the tickets, hadn’t she? Was considering the offer.

The girl would come down, though. Winter had only begun— he knew it well enough and he knew it would only worsen, and perhaps he’d backed her into that particular corner by bringin’ his wife up by July-time after dropping her off ‘round April. 

She was hungry. She was cold. Couldn’t deny that. Hadn’t denied a _single thing_ that Hades had said, and even though she ached for her man, the hunger would win out. Simple as that, the gut and the mind would overpower her feeble heart, and while Persephone, soft hearted as she is, would find it in herself to pity the poor songbird, hadn’t it proven his point? 

Her beloved overworld was as fickle as its master, it would change with the coming winds, and Hades was stable, was safe, and was the better option when the wind eventually turned. 

Perhaps if the Patroness had been a kinder wife, then the girl would not have to be the sacrificial lamb.

He’d made his case. Had made the passage as easy as anything. Gave her the ticket to the down below, and gave her the coin needed for the ferryman. 

Wouldn’t hurt a bit, the descent. 

  
  


II

  
  


Eurydice steps on the train, into Hades’ waiting arms. The train is as warm as the outside is cold, and there ain’t a need for the heavy old jacket that she used to don on her skinny shoulders.

Still, she tucks her vest tight ‘round herself. As though her vest would shield her from the gravity of her decision. A sad sign of her fear. Or perhaps she is hiding from his gaze. She is staring right out the window, and yet Hades knows that she has not taken her eyes off him. Flicking to and fro. 

Hades does not take his sunglasses off. She needn’t know that he is staring. Staring at the slope of her nose. The curve of the bow of her lips, noting the fact that her cheeks are round with youth despite the hunger. Dark hair that just fell over her face in a war-like chop, flopping over her forehead and cheeks. Weren’t a drop of her that looked like Persephone. 

Good. Would make this easier.

She rubs her hands on her knees. They’re not underground yet, so she surely ain’t hot.

She dares to glance at him for a moment. “Where are the other shades?” She asks, slow-like. Choosing her words. 

“Other cars.” He replies, no reason to lie to her.

“Why?”

“You ain’t goin’ where the other shades are goin’.” And there ain’t no charming snake-oil in Hades’ voice. Nothing to sell to her, not anymore. 

“Where are they goin’?” She sounds frightened, but she does not cow at her fate. She made her choice, and Hades respects that, even if his reasons for plucking her for his foundry are not simple work prospects. The girl weren’t used to any sort of labor, he knew that much. A vagrant, who let herself be buffeted from place to place. 

Hades ain’t get much of those. They’d rather die the natural way. Would rather take an easy afterlife in the fields. 

“It’s my wife’s jurisdiction.” He says simply, “You won’t be seein’ where they’re going.”

Eurydice swallows, but she don’t cow, retains her resolve, and she persists, “I wanna know, though.”

Hades knows she will forget it anyhow, but there ain’t no harm in indulging her. “Asphodel fields. Might hear the Missus call it the Old Town.” And he wouldn’t tell her where she might find the Missus in the first place. The speakeasy gave handouts to those who were green, and she’d find it quick enough.

Hades preferred to pretend that damn speakeasy didn’t exist. Wouldn’t have to think about how his wife was drinking herself stupid to blind the feel of him, to forget he even existed. To soften her hatred of his underworld, just _a little bit._

He misses when that old warehouse was just that. When Persephone’s self-medicating was at least just limited to the flask rather than a flashy collection of memories of the surface and high quality booze that would do better than to be wasted on _shades, would be better spent on a night between a man and his wife, not between worker drones who couldn’t even remember their own names, much less tell the difference between a good and bad drink._

She turns to face him properly, and her eyes are dark and unbearably calf-like, and Hades realizes with a lurch that the girl does have somethin’ of his wife in her, with them stolid eyes, and if they were just a shade or two lighter they’d be that same shade of earthy brown. 

Hades turns away, and at least behind the safety of the shades, she couldn’t see the distress of his realization.

Better that the girl knew less, better that she didn’t learn too much ‘fore the Lethe took her mind and shaped it properly. The few hours where a shade’s mind was being washed were delicate ones, and if she knew too much, _well._ She’d buck like a bronco against her new confinements, would start tellin’ the older shades things, and, well, Hades knew how easy it was to sway a crowd.

Which is why this is stupid. 

Which is why having her here is a horrible idea.

And yet, Hades ain’t never been one to hide from his own promises.

Promise, threat, it didn’t matter none.

_She was bent over the lilies in their garden when he left. Was mutterin’ to them, like she always did, because she swore up and down that talking to her beloved flowers and vines and shrubbery made ‘em grow even better than when she didn’t. Said she fed ‘em a good regiment of sunlight, water, and Olympian gossip, when she and Hades first met, and he thought it was the most charming thing in the world, that she spoke to her flowers. She woke up in a good mood today, had even managed a laugh when he slid the coffee in front of her and said that it’s been how many thousand years, and she still couldn’t stomach coffee without a heap of creamer and sugar in it?_

Had offered to play dominoes with him later today, hadn’t she. Bad timing on his part, to have the girl be picked up today. But he weren’t about to ruin all the planning put into this-- although it was bad planning-- go to waste. 

So he sits across the girl, who’s fiddling with cheap jewelry that she probably dug out from the back of a flea market.

“Are there usually more people in this car?”

“Sometimes. Depends on how bad the winter is.” 

And her eyes don’t flick back down nervously, like a cornered mouse. That’s good. Hades doesn’t like ‘em afraid. Liked to be gentle with his women, and if not, at least rough in ways that they liked; that they were not afraid of. 

Hades was altogether too _used_ to being intimidating, too used to being frightened of, and he could think of nothing more unappealing than a frightened woman.

The songbird weren’t afraid of him no more, though. Nothing to be scared of, once the rattlesnake shot his venom in ya. 

“Do you plan for it to be a bad winter?” She sounds concerned, the same way Persephone worries over her mama when Hades brings her down. Voice lilting up similarly.

“Ain’t up to me, songbird.” And that’s only a half-truth, but a truth nonetheless. Ain’t entirely up to him-- but doin’ this ain’t helpin’.

It’s silent, for a long while. The girl watches the outside world fade away. Taking in the last of her surface-world home, the last of her mortal life. Hades would be sad if he had not seen it played out a million other times. If he had not seen that same longing on his little Spring wife’s face every damn time he pulled her down a little too early for her tastes. It made it easy to feel neutral, seeing his wife's disappointment at the sight of him, year in and year out.

The rock and shadow of the underground consume the train, and the only light from the outside is from the mining lamps overhead. There’s no more sky, no more clouds or snow or cold to look at, to cling to. The girl made her choice, and when her face is doused in the dim, yellow light, Hades does not feel bad. No need to pity a corpse who would have only suffered the longer she stayed up there. 

Like pitying a sick animal who was about to be put down. To prolong her suffering would’ve been a crueler fate, and he recognized that. 

She looks back at her, and her face is half lit by the outdoor lamps, half lit by the pristine blue light of the interior.  
  


“Why’d you pick me?” She says it like she already knows the answer. But her voice ain’t filled with disgust, ain’t filled with anger. Just accusation, just a _knowing_ in her that made Hades uncomfortable. He didn’t like to be picked apart, studied. 

Hades don’t answer that. A proper answer would just be picked apart. To say he goes scoutin’ at the end of every summer would be pushing the line between half-truth and lying, and to say the _proper_ truth, well. It was just impolite. Hades were nothin’ if not a gentleman. Just crosses his arms and nods to the window. “We’ll be arriving soon.”

III

The girl is impressed at his empire.

Her eyes are wide when they step off the train. But not in horror, not in disgust. She ain’t frightened of the work, of the heat and the sweat. Ain’t like his wife, who only found absolution in the soil and by her blood and sweat working the land up above. Only found her peace when her love poured into the plants she tended to, and found this work, _his_ work, repugnant. Thought it was cruel to give the shades their own absolution, to give them a shovel and a pick and allow their sweat to _mean something._ To allow their tears and their pain to have value.

The work would free them.

He paid ‘em better than anything they were getting in life, and the girl knew that. 

She was curious, amazed by the finely tuned machine. Watching all her fellow workers step into formation, forming row after row of neat, single file lines. She did not think that this fate was torture, or otherwise unappealing. She knew she would be cared for, knew that she would have purpose.

Couple that with a bed to lie on and food to fill her belly, and there weren’t much better that a girl like her could be provided with. 

‘Course, she was a fine girl, one who respected work as much as Hades, even if he were her king. They were on equal footing, there. They understood one another, if just for that brief, fleeting moment, as they watched Hades’ kingdom from above. Walking along the catwalks, listening to the heavy, steady melody of work-boots on stone. Hades’ workers, singing to his tune. All in perfect sync.

It’d be a shame to watch the girl go to the Lethe. Now, he don’t regret using the Lethe like that. Fact was, if he didn’t the underground would rightly turn into a mess of rioting and bellyaching, and he weren’t in no mood to crush more riots; this year has had _plenty._

Her eyes lock on the wall. Only the outer-districts ever worked on it, ever turned mortar to the new row, and built up and up and up. Protecting them from what they feared most, because weren’t no better remedy for poverty than a job to do.

“What are they building?” 

Hades’ eyes flick back. “The wall.”

“We need a wall?” She says, and she fiddles with the rings on her fingers. Hades realizes that it might be a nervous tick. Don’t bother answering the question, though, because he ain’t about to say _yes_ when the damn wall is in clear view. Eurydice swallows. “Why do we need a wall?”

“Nothin’ more dangerous out here than poverty, songbird.” And well, Hades had infinite openings. God of Wealth paid nicely. Doled out when it came down to it. 

Gave more than any mortal man could give; in the end, even the wealthiest old man still had to face judgement at the end of that railroad line before the eyes of _almighty Mister Hades._

She spots the speakeasy, and he turns away from it. It’s still closed-- Persephone only opens during the graveyard shift. He’s well aware of it, and while the girl seems shocked at the thought of such clear rebellion hiding just beneath Mister Hades’ nose, he don’t respond to her alarmed look back at him. Just keeps on the straight forward. He don’t bother lookin’ at it anymore. Was just a reminder of their failed marriage. 

A reminder that she ain’t bother with sleepin’ in their bed no more; least, not when he was there. Were times when he’d come back from inspectin’ the mines, or working the machines, depending on the day, and he’d catch her there. Knocked out on her side of the bed with his pillow in her hands, and though he wanted to wake her up, dig his fingers into her shoulder and hiss that she’s a stubborn old crone, depriving them both of happiness because of her own pride. But he doesn’t.

Just slips into the shower, and lets her rest.

The girl does not peel her eyes from the speakeasy until it’s out of view, and Hades’ most prized possessions come into view. The foundry, and the power grid. 

Least, the heart of the power grid was here. It extended to the outermost districts, and it powered the whole damn underground. The heat and the light from it made the whole of it visible, and Hades could sniff out a man who was takin’ longer than his allotted fifteen minutes or one who was pocketin’ product on the line. 

Good installation, was the power grid. It was powerful, it was overbearing, and it reminded them all of his gaze, always watching, always _waiting._

The foundry helped with the heat, though. Permanently on, permanently blazing hot. That was the fact about Hadestown; it was always _hot,_ always summertime down here, even if it wasn’t what his wife considered a _proper_ summertime. If she thought his work was a bastardization of the natural order, _well,_ she could crow about it all she liked. Weren’t a thing that would change it now. The underworld was no longer cold, was no longer dank. The shades no longer milled about, waiting to be consumed by the Lethe and shot back onto the surface world. The surface world and her fickle, fleeting nature. 

No, in Hadestown, there was no winter to speak of. Always hot, always warm, just as he liked it, even if Persephone was bothered by it. Found it too intense, too much. She thought everything about him was too much, these days.

So she surely wouldn’t mind this, then. Someone to take him off her hands for a little bit. 

Perhaps he’s goading her, perhaps he’s seeing just what she will do if he _does_ make his intentions clear. If she will act, if she will prove that she still loves him, that she still needs him.

Hades wanted her so badly to need him. 

They’re almost at his office, and Persephone comes into view. Just as he knew she would be. She never strayed far, no matter what.

She’s still in the gardens, which had grown considerably in the time that she’d been forced to spend here, grown considerably in the time she was spending outside, avoiding her husband. But she sees them just fine. He can see the look on her face, confusion, then dawning distress as she recognizes the new shade. He doesn’t bother asking how his wife knows her.

She stands there, unsure of what to do, of what to say. Her hands hang at her sides, and they do not ball into fists, they don’t do _anything._ She just sits there, silently horrified, quailing before him as though _she_ were some damn fluttering songbird. Waiting for his next move, because their eyes have already met, and this is a confrontation now. It’s a battle, and Hades had the jump on her-- he’d initiated, and she looked so damn unsure. 

Hades held all the cards, seeing as Persephone didn’t know what to make of it, of all of this.

He reaches up to his throat, and her eyes follow his hand, and she stays stock still. Ain’t moving a damn muscle, just sitting there, waiting on him. He ain’t ever seen her go still like that. Like she was waiting to breathe. 

He loosens his tie, pulling down the knot of it, and she watches it, silent, distress turning to horror and her eyes soften into something he ain’t ever seen before on her.

Quiet dejection. Like she was a dog he’d kicked to the curb, and how dare she be sad, how dare she act as though she hadn’t pushed him to this, as though she weren’t even _partially_ at fault, as though she were just stuck there, unable to act?

She could move her feet, she could open her mouth and speak, and she would put a stop to it all. But she’s standing there, watching him like she’s somehow helpless. And he undoes the topmost button of his shirt, and he swears she flinches. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t stop watching him, and the sight of her is both infuriating and too pathetic to bear.

So he turns back to the girl, corralling her into his office with his arm, but never quite touchin’ her.

The door closes, and Persephone does nothing. 

IV

The girl sits on the seat across from his. She ain’t afraid, but she’s wary, can see it in the way she’s surveilling the room out of the corners of her eyes. Unsure of where this will go. And Hades, well, Hades is trying to figure that out his damn self. He’s yet to sit down, still stalking about his office.

The papers are set before her. Quick contract, standard, for a shade like her. Some of them liked to read it all over before signing, and Hades had eventually decided that speakin’ quickly were a lot easier than havin’ ‘em reading every little line and letter and wastin’ time in his office that could be better spent on the factory floor. 

All about whether or not the girl decides to sign this particular contract. Either way, Hades already signs these things before he sets out for job prospects, always prepares for it. Good punter, Hades, usually gets a new shade under his wing when he sets out for one. 

  
Mighty good, indeed.

She’s one of them nitpicky shades, reading every line, rereading it to make sure she ain’t miss anything, too. Like Hades got somethin’ to lie about, at this point. She’s already dead, ain’t she? Even if she said no to the contract, she’d just be sent off to the Old Town. Without purpose, kicking rocks for a century before the call to the Lethe overcame her and she began the hard life upstairs all over again.

Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. She says no, she says yes, there were always other people who would take an interest in what Hades had to offer.

She picks up the pen, scrawls her name where it’s needed. Eurydice needn’t do more than that. She was hungry, and perhaps the uncertainty of what lied in the Old Town scared her enough to take her chances with the new one. Workin’ for pay and for food in your belly seemed a lot more appealing than a literal ghost town that existed on the other side of the wall, which might as well have made it an entirely different world.

Now was the hard part, though. The real tricksy bit.

He takes the fine whiskey on his shelf. Steeling himself. A drink would clear his mind. 

Least he could say that. That when he said _a drink_ he meant just _one_ drink. Didn’t shoot enough liquor to make himself too drunk to walk. 

He takes two glasses.

Tries to put her at ease. But this feels too tense. When he uncaps the tumbler, it almost feels like he’s talking to a client. That stiff way of pouring a drink. A fingers width for her, a finger’s width for him. Following rules of politesse down to the letter; though, that wouldn’t exactly work for… what he was attempting, would it. Calling a seduction weren’t exactly right. The seduction itself had already taken place. She was already down here, weren’t she. But whether or not she chooses to, well, indulge an old man and his desires, that was the question. 

Perhaps she shared those desires. Perhaps he had misread the longing in her eyes as just hunger, as just yearning for somebody to take care of her. 

Maybe she needed to be touched, too, needed to have a man’s hand on her, just as he needed a woman’s on him. 

He doesn’t sit, just stays there for a moment, taking the drink as she does; a fox crouching in the bushes, waiting to snap up the songbird tittering about the grass.

She takes a sip of the drink, and her eyes flick back to him. “Do you do this often?”

Hades springs at that. “What?”

“Share drinks with the shades?”

Hades swallows, and he takes a step back, letting her gain ground, letting her take some territory. That was the dance, wasn’t it. Let her take some, let her set the pace before you get yours. He shrugs, “Sometimes.” And he circles his desk, sitting back down in his great old chair. Not quite a chromium throne, but it would have to do, wouldn’t it. Couldn’t exactly move an ancient throne to his office. “I consider this a special occasion, though.”

And she takes another sip. Drop by drop. She hums, “And why’s that?” She asks, one hand reaching down to the desk. Reaching out to him. He swallows, and brings the shot glass to his lips. One long, slow drink. Dragging it out, so that he doesn’t have to answer the question right away.

She could almost be smiling, if you looked at her from a certain angle. She hums to herself, “I thought I was just signing papers.” She sounds flirtatious, and Hades’ heart damn near stops at the thought that the girl is _flirting with him._ He’s reminded of his wife again, and he can’t think of her at a time like this. Times when they were young and stupid and they were in her mother’s garden, and she would hold back a smile, pretending to be stern as she said _Now, Mister Hades, I don’t know who you think I am, but I ain’t the sort of girl to just hike her skirts up for any stranger that passes by._ _Before Hades cupped her cheek, pulled her close and damn heaven and earth, there weren’t a sensation that felt better than her lips on his._

The sound of the shot glass on the table brings him back to the present. She’s set her drink down, and she’s brushing her hands down the skirt of her slip. She was a hungry thing indeed, wearing a nightgown during the daytime. “Would be indiscrete to speak of it.” He says quietly, catching the line of her breasts along the lace trim of her slip.

Her tongue darts for a moment. Licking her lips.

Hades undoes his tie the rest of the way. Was too polite to say anything, because Hades was a damn _gentleman,_ if nothing else.

Eurydice stands, and she rounds the desk. Rests on the edge of it, for a moment. “Now, I can’t do nothin’ if you don’t tell me what you want, Hades.” The air is _mighty_ tense, because regardless of everything, regardless of what they wanted right now, Hades’ wife was _just outside the damn door, and the girl’s fiance had been left behind no less than a coupl’a hours ago._

His throat feels dry. Mind, he hadn’t even touched the songbird yet, hadn’t even felt the softness of her skin-- and it _did_ look mighty soft. She makes the first move, though. Damning them both. Already damned herself, why not bring down the rattlesnake along with her?

She couldn’t undo her leaving. Now he would do something he couldn’t undo, either. The boy was long gone, this would not hurt her poet as much as it would hurt Persephone. 

Eurydice sits herself on his thigh, and he swallows, feeling the warmth of her against him, and he don’t push her off. Takes her by the hips and pulls her close. She tilts her head, and tugs at the ends of his tie, undone and lying on his shoulders. “Now, I think you’re wearin’ too many layers.” She says, and he just makes a grunt of approval at the thought, still feeling her out beneath her meager scraps of clothing.

She hums, and slides the tie off. Letting it fall to the ground. She begins to undo the buttons of his coat, and a thrill runs through him, pooling in his gut, and he hardens, right up against her thigh, and though she surely feels it, she doesn’t comment. She just finishes undoing it, down to the last button, and hums. They have to shuffle to get it off, and soon he’s left in just his waistcoat. She hums, pops the first few buttons of his shirt, and he shivers, running his hands up along her thighs, beneath her little slip, covered by cheap hose and held up by an old garter. 

Runs his thumb up along the soft cotton of her underthings, and she makes a shuddery little noise that makes him press in deeper, rubbing his thumb at her clit through the fabric, and she makes that soft noise again, shivering as Hades strokes her. Rutting her hips forward, trying to get him to touch more, but he just takes her by the hip with his other hand, shushing her as she whimpers, soft and high, and he almost pities the poor thing. 

“When was the last time someone touched ya, songbird?” His voice is rougher than he intends it to be. But callin’ it gravelly ain’t right, no, Hades’ voice was a proper _rockslide,_ rumbly and foreboding.

  
She bites her lip, and he circles her clit with his thumb, making her huff out soft breathy gasps. Rubs the pad of his thumb over it once just once, before heading further south, running along her labia, pressing the fabric flush against her cunt, staining it with her slick, and she just makes another little noise in the back of her throat. 

“Asked ya a question, songbird.” He hums, and she gives a half hearted little shrug, as if she hadn’t even heard it.

Hades squeezes at her thigh, holding her there. “Nobody taught ya any manners? Answer me.” And he’s got an edge in his voice that seems to startle his little songbird out of her little ascension. 

There’s a flash of her teeth as she thinks on it, popping her bottom lip beneath the top one as she thinks on it. “Just about before the Lady left.” Her answer is breathy, and her hungry, thin chest rises and falls. 

He hums, pulls back his fingers, and he licks his lips at the sight of her, flushed red, lips parted, and it’s an enticing little sight, ain’t it. He takes hold of the scrappy vest on her shoulders, and slides it off each arm, letting it fall down, too. Ain’t like she would be needing it.

Matter of fact, she wouldn’t be needing any of what she was wearing, where she was headed. “Why don’t you show me what you’re hidin’ under that slip, songbird. Use your hands a little.” He hums, and she takes the little lace hem of her old shift, and pulls it up, exposing herself to those dark eyes, all at his request. He takes hold of her thighs, one in each hand, and it’s a pretty little picture, ain’t it. Her dark slip and her dark, ripped up hose framing her cunt. He hooks a finger under the waistband, rubbing at it for a moment, as though he’s assessing the quality of the cotton. “Now, I don’t think you’ll mind too much if I take these for myself. After all, won’t be doin’ nothin’ but gettin’ in the way, at this rate.” And she don’t argue none, just shivers as his big old fingers take one strip of fabric, and with a quick snapping noise, the garment flops over on one side, baring a little more of her.

He repeats the action, and it falls down onto his thigh. Easier that way, knows as much by the way he runs his fingers along her. Middle and index, lightly rubbing at her, and she makes a fluty sorta noise, arching her back to get more. “Much better, ain’t it.” And she just nods, rocking just a little before dropping her skirt, and he lets her. Nothing wrong with wanting pleasure, and it wasn’t like she was gonna come on this alone.

No, she was still wriggling back onto him, couldn’t even get the proper sort of pleasure that she wanted. Hades wasn’t all nice. He just liked to grant the occasional gift. Liked to watch her squirm, too, needy thing that she was. Gasping for breath each time he let her have a little bit more, each time he pressed down onto her clit, and oh, sometimes she would just _jolt_ right in his hands when he met her little thrusts, when he pressed down on her and she weren’t rightly expecting it. 

He doesn’t let her go, though. Always keeps a hand on her thigh while the other pleasures her, squeezin’ her tight, holding her in place when her wriggling becomes too much for his liking. Keeping her in line, because it seems she ain’t altogether used to taking orders.

Takes the moment to explore, though to run his hands up from her thighs up to her hips, up along her waist. Skinny thing, ain’t too much sloping and curving, but it ain’t like he’s unused to that. Keeps going ‘till he reaches her breasts, and her nipples are already hard from either the cool of the office or the fact that Hades is teasing her with them calloused fingers as she hunches over him, her little songbird claws digging into his biceps as she holds onto him.

Ain’t much for talking, neither. She don’t need to talk, though. She’s wet on Hades’ hand, and it sticks to her thighs whenever she does one of them pleasant little jolts and she squeezes them together, like it’s altogether too much to bear. 

He thinks he’s spoiled her enough though, given her enough, more than enough for a mortal shade. Stops his exploration of her, places his hand back on her hip, and she shivers as Hades pulls away. Licks her lips, and them wide calf-eyes that he is trying _so damn hard_ to avoid, search for answers, “Why’d ya stop?” And he presents his fingers to her for a moment. 

“Mighty big mess you’re makin’, songbird.” He hums with an offhand sort of air, “Think it’d only be polite of ya to clean it for me.” He says, and she eyes him with a damn _fine_ mix of desperation and frustration. As if wonderin’ what the _hell_ was his problem with just lettin’ her have at it? 

So she takes him by the wrist. Mighty gently, mind, and parts her lips for him. Takes them big old fingers and lets ‘em rest on her tongue. Givin’ him all the control he damn well pleases. And he just hums, running his fingers over that pretty pink tongue, pushin’ a little further in to see how she reacts, and she just makes a soft hum of approval. As though she’s just doin’ this for his benefit. “Suck.” He instructs, because he’s just playin’ around with her mouth at this point, and he wants to see if she can do what she’s here for. 

Hell, he hadn’t even come in intending to touch her, hadn’t meant to end up this way. But the girl had been the one to make the move, and had been the one to settle herself down on his lap. 

She drags her tongue over the pads of his fingers, lapping up what remains of her slick on his hands, before sucking, and she’s mighty gentle with it. Don’t hollow out her cheeks ‘till Hades starts moving his hand, mocking a thrust. “You do this often?” He grunts, and she shakes her head, delicate fingers still wrapped around his wrist. Got both of her hands ‘round it, still holding onto him for support., and he pictures her on his cock, that pretty mouth on him, taking him whole, with her hair covering her spring-wife eyes, and she whimpers as his left hand finds her breasts again, rubbing his thumb over her nipple. Takes the hem of her slip and pulls it down, cupping her as he pinches at the little bud, making her gasp around the fingers in her mouth. 

And when he lightly tugs at it, she makes a choked off sorta noise that damn near _surprises_ him when it comes out of his little songbird. So he repeats the action, and her knees buckle, weight properly coming to rest on him, and she swallows, grinding down hesitantly on him, as if askin’ for permission by just going slow. And he watches her, for a moment, gaze dropping down to watch her rub her cunt on his thigh, and it’s a mighty pretty sight.

Rocking back and forth, and Hades can’t tell if it’s desperation or if she’s demanding it as recompense for making her suck his fingers, for teasing her with meager scraps and then putting her to work for it. She lets out that deep sort of moan as she thrusts down onto the muscle of his thigh, and he tugs at her nipple again. She repeats the motion, but he doesn’t indulge it, this time. Doesn’t help her, and it’s clear that she doesn’t much like that, squeezing at his wrist while the other hand just squeezes at her breast, helping himself more than bothering to give her any pleasure. 

She groans as he squeezes again, and he hums. “Don’t like that as much, hm.” And he pinches her nipple between his fingers, working it softly ‘till shes panting again, rutting forward and bein’ played with. Pulls his fingers from between her lips, though, even as she lets out another little songbird chirp that belies her irritation. All this starting and stopping was getting to her, wasn’t it.

“Think you could cum like this, songbird?” 

Her big eyes turn downright _owlish,_ and she just huffs out a few more breaths, as if to say _ain’t it obvious._ But he drops both hands to the arms of that great big office chair. “Go on, now, use your words. Got a workin’ tongue, last I checked.” 

“ _Yes._ ” She murmurs, voice a little haggard. He pats her side, as though thankin’ her for her honesty. 

“Off, then.” And she makes a small noise of protest, but she shuffles off, leaving a wet spot in her wake. He’ll have to clean _that_ up later, won’t he. Won’t be walkin’ around announcing his indiscretion, even if he _had_ already announced it to the only person that mattered. 

“On your knees, songbird.” And does just as told. Obedient little thing, she’d learn quick at the foundry. And if, well, if the fancy struck him, he might be able to at least look at her while she worked. Would be good to keep her in the main district, to remind Persephone of the fact that, _well,_ he had other options. Had a songbird who he might deign to give, say, preferential treatment.

And she’s currently resting her head on his knee like she don’t know what she’s here for. He figures maybe she’s waitin’ on him to do it. 

Perhaps the old wife had spoiled him, too. Had gotten him good and used to just laying back, and letting her do all the work while he pet them curls-- _fuck_ he needed to stop thinkin’ of her. Needed to stop before he softened right in front of the songbird, like he was an impotent old man. 

He pops the buttons of his trousers, unzips ‘em and his cock springs up against his belly, flushed heavily by the tip, a rosy sorta gold color. Ichor in his veins, and it made the red, mortal blood in hers just stand out all the more as she wrapped her hand around the base. Pumping it softly, and she’s got soft hands, properly soft hands-- no callouses from handling farm equipment, from working the land, and he groans, needing to get the mental image out as she strokes just beneath the head, making Hades whimper. Quietly, but still there.

Was sensitive, there. Didn’t need to take him whole, just needed to pay proper attention to where he liked it, and the songbird had figured that out quick enough. 

Ran the pad of her finger over the vein that just goes down the length, and Hades swallows, opening his mouth to tell her to stop teasin’, because she weren’t in the position to be teasing a god, no matter how far into this they may be. And she parts her lips, dragging her tongue along the underside, pressing down at the glans, and he makes another noise that he didn’t fully intend on making. 

“Just tryin’ to make you feel good, Mister Hades.” And it’s the first time she’s called him by his name. First time she’s called him anything, really, and yet the honorific of _Mister_ is lacking. Hades weren’t a mister to nobody, nobody except a woman who no longer existed. Who’d stopped existing when she was replaced by some sad ghost sitting in a garden and staring like a calf to the slaughter as her husband herded some pretty young thing into his office with ill intent on the mind.

“Ain’t a _Mister_ to you.” He growls, reaching down to pet her hair. Reminds himself of all the ways she isn’t _her._ Needs to ground himself in that, in not thinking of his Spring-wife while he’s got his cock in another woman’s hands. While she works him over, up, and down, thumbing at the underside of the head, and he lets out a puffy breath.

“What do you want me to call you, then.” She asks it like this is a game. She’s right, to some degree. They are playing a game, just a dangerous one, a tense dance between the two of them. Both are damning the other in doing this, and she’s probably takin’ great pleasure in damning the King of the Mines. King of Contracts and King of Gamblers. 

Little kitten licks, first, just playing with the head, because she’s noticed he likes it there, while still stroking the rest of him with just her hands. Tilting her head to drag her tongue along the length of it, and he squeezes at the arm rests. Always mighty sensitive to that, the little touches, the heat of a lady’s tongue leavin’ him to the cold. His cock twitches in her hands, and she seems to like that. 

Might be that she ain’t able to take all of him, givin’ him them little kitten licks ‘cus she’s too small-- hell, he’d even been too big for-- _no._

“I’m yer King. Ain’t none of them mortal oil barons.” He runs his fingers through her hair. Ain’t a bit of curl to it, and he groans as she hollows out her cheeks around him, and he pushes her down. She doesn’t resist, just places a hand on his knee, while the other still holds onto the base. She laves at the underside, and she’s at least done him the service of keeping her eyes shut. More focused on taking him, right now. On makin’ him feel good, and ain’t that nice of her? 

Good girl, the songbird, follows orders, does as she’s told and as she needs to do, unlike his bull-headed spring-wife who never so much as breathed by-the-book.

Was it wrong to want someone who just wanted him, who just wanted to please him, if only for a little bit? Ten minutes, twenty minutes, just that to have someone focus on him, worry about takin’ care of him?

Even if it was care in the form of suckin’ his cock dry, in the form of parting her lips in a coy little invitation, askin’ Hades to come and _get it._

Fox sees a little songbird with a broken wing, hoppin’ about a clearing, chirping for rescue; well, ain’t the fox’s fault if he listens to his nature. If he snaps her up between his teeth and he has her for himself, even if he knows he rightly well shouldn’t.

He pushes her down further, and she whimpers, her hand lets go of the base of him, and just bracing herself on his thigh, digging her sharp little nails into the flesh, and Hades realizes that he’s gotta tell her to file those down, later. But he groans anyhow, pushing her down to the base as she makes a desperate sort of noise, altogether unused to that sort of size, he supposes, ain’t used to big old hands pushin’ her down there, holding her there as her nose twitches, before slowly pulling her off. Keeps her mouth on him, though. 

Just rockin’ her back enough to let her breathe, even though she doesn’t _need_ to, anymore. No, she’s good and dead, ain’t even a pulse in her, but she don’t need to know that. She’ll figure it out at one point or another.

Hades pulls her back down, grunting as she swallows around him, and when he pulls her back, she tongues at the slit, and ain’t _that_ a strange move. 

Ain’t never had someone do that to him, and she allows him to push her back down. Creates a steady sort of rhythm, sliding her along the length of his shaft as she just braces herself, sucks a little harder or plays with it with her tongue, just makin’ Hades make those rough sort of noises that a god-king ain’t normally wont to doing. Undignified sorta noises, pullin’ her down onto his cock, and if he feels heat poolin’ at the base of his stomach for the muffled little noises coming out of the songbird’s throat. Wet, filthy noises outta her, the sort that give Hades pleasure to wring outta her, because Hades had them sorts of filthy desires, liked to see the ring of his songbird’s lipstick around his cock the shininess of her spit on her own cheeks.

She was doin’ it for him, doin’ it to please him, maybe even to please herself, maybe she was that sorta girl, not that Hades would know. Only sorta girls who liked that were the nymphs from uptop, and they never much liked him. 

He pushes her down again, a little rougher this time and her eyes are watery when he does so. She don’t complain or pull back, though, and his cock is _throbbin’, almost there, he can just finish here, can just take his pleasure from the girl and send her off and he can wash his hands of it, and he can just tell her to git while the ghost of her sits on his lap, while the phantom sensations of her hands on him warm his skin--_

The girl opens her eyes, then. Wanting to see a god come apart, wanting to see the rapture in all its glory, and those dark calf-eyes just peer up at him, and he is reminded of the person he wants to be thinking of _least_ right now. Could picture her down there, because this office has been defiled by the two of them more times than Hades could ever hope to keep count of. 

The pull at the base of his gut subsides, ebbing away the longer he’s forced to meet her gaze. Though there ain’t no judgement in it, he feels as though he’s seein’ a phantom of his wife. Her big eyes gazin’ on up at him when she kisses the tip of his cock, full of warmth even as she does the filthiest of things to him. Filled with frustration as they use each other for just a little bit of stress relief, because they’re both stubborn as bulls but that meant nothing when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. 

Full of disappointment, now, studying him through the eyes of a mortal girl he’d plucked off the earth less than a few hours ago. And he groans, can’t do anythin’ to get back to what he wanted, and he certainly ain’t about to come like this. 

Seems she gets the hint, though, popping off, and she keeps on strokin’ at him, short little movements, up along the length of him, just made quicker by the slickness of her spit. Quite the sight it makes, too, in the light. The lower half of her face and his cock are shiny with her saliva, and she swipes her chin with the back of her hand, as though that’ll do anything. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?” She asks, and she does not say his name. Perhaps because the honorific of _My Lord_ is too debasing, and she’s a little too proud to indulge that for him. He don’t blame her. 

Hades just shakes his head. She did do somethin’ wrong, but nothin’ he could rightly pin on her. Ain’t like he could punish her for just openin’ her eyes at him. “Why don’t’cha get up, songbird.” And she frowns, but doesn’t argue none. Just stands on up, if on wobbly legs.

Her slip falls on over her thighs again, and Hades just takes her by the hips, pulling her between his spread legs, just holdin’ her in place for a moment. “Want ya to bend over the desk for me, want you to flip up that skirt for me, present that pretty cunt, let me take good care of ya.” Which is the nice way of askin’ her to hide her face from him. 

If he just looked at her from the back, looked at her short, choppy hair, and looked at her smooth skin that didn’t have no freckles or wrinkles on it, no wiry muscle beneath it, well, that would make Hades’ job a _whole_ lot easier, wouldn’t it.

He can’t think too hard about it, or he’ll back out, and it was far, _far_ too late to back out. So he just undoes his cufflinks, rolls back his sleeves, nice and easy. 

Meanwhile, she settles down onto her elbows, as if doin’ so will somehow change what she’s doin’. As if pulling up her shift by the skirt rather than the hem was somehow different, somehow less obscene. 

Hades hums, standing after a long while of fiddling with his dress shirt, because he’s noticin’ her starting to twitch. The bird wants out of her cage, already starting to want to flutter off. 

Women. Can’t stay put for the life of ‘em, even when they want it. “Patience, now.” He growls, and she looks back at him, eyes narrowing for a moment, and he stands. “You really wanna be on the factory floor?” 

“No.” She says quietly, and he places his hands on her ass cheeks, parting them to get a proper look at her. Wet, oh she was _interested, even still._ She liked him, liked how he’d treated her. Not that he could comment on that, not that he _would_ comment on it, but part of him _liked it,_ liked knowing that there was someone who liked doing things _his_ way, rather than just her own. His way weren’t so bad, after all. 

She whines when he brushes his thumb over her, and with her lips parted he can see just _how_ desperate she is for him. He just continues his brushing, his little exploration, and she groans when he rubs his thumb over her clit again. “You want me?” He growls, and slides his fingers into her cunt. She ain’t so small that he gotta start with one, and she’s no maiden from the fields. No need to be over-gentle when she’d made it clear that she don’t need none of that. Just slides ‘em in and out, nice and slow, placing a hand between her shoulders as she begins to wriggle, bucking her hips back onto him, silently pleading with him.

Hades don’t answer too much to beggin’. 

Ain’t much of a talker, this one. “Gonna have to say what you want, songbird. Got plenty o’ time before you gotta be on the line.” And she makes a choked off sorta noise, like she’s outta breath, when he curls his fingers inside her, hitting that spot that makes a woman turn to putty in a man’s hands. 

Had plenty of chances to explore it, Hades. Hadn’t had many women in his life, perhaps a romance or two before his wife, but he still knew how to please women. Liked doin’ so, liked hearin’ them turn too desperate for words, just under his hand. 

“More.” She grunts, and he hums, rockin’ his fingers back into her. 

“Think you can do better than that.” He says, mighty unbothered for a man in his position.

“I want ya to give me more. Need more.” And he gives that same unbothered little purr before slippin’ in a third one. Hears her give more songbird chirps as he tries to get her good and comfortable. 

Doesn’t take long, though, she’s certainly _amenable_ to whatever Hades offers her, certainly pliable under his hands, and wouldn’t Hades like to know if she’s doin’ it just to tease him once it’s all over. Tease him with somethin’ he can’t have. 

He pulls his fingers out, slick with her, and it’ll take years of washing before her mark is gone on him, on his fingers. 

Hades takes his cock in hand, and he feels as though he might go still, but his body just keeps goin’ anyhow. Rubs the head between her folds, watchin’ her legs bend and her whole lower half squirm at the sensation. “You ever had a man like me, songbird?” And he groans as he presses in. Slow, at first, because he ain’t one to hurt, then quick, because he needs this, needs to get some damn relief after all the trouble he went through just to get here. 

Sacrificed a domino game that was an olive branch that might’ve been a chance at mending the broken bits of his marriage. Which was almost all of it. Everything but the whole foundation had been destroyed.

“Many.” She moans in response, and it’s the first question she’s answered without prompting, and he groans as she tightens up around him. “Just the last one I’ll ever have.” Which is true. No snake-oil man, or any man, any _shade,_ for a matter of fact, would do much with her after this. 

The shades took the Lady’s side, their God’s side, because Persephone was their madonna, their savior in the hellish little experiment that Hades had created. And if Persephone said as much, in their eyes, the lamb would be just as guilty as the butcher. 

He pulls out, and it’s a slow thing, before he thrusts forward, and he feels bad, makin’ her just take his cock when he ain’t even properly touched the poor girl yet. Left her longin’ with glassy eyes and her dress pulled in every which way. 

Hunches over her, keepin’ that steady pace as he steadies himself on the desk and holdin’ her in place by the hip. Bony as she was, the only thing that the old oak desk would do was dig into her pelvis and make this situation even _more_ uncomfortable than it had to be. Reaches around with that hand and strokes in small circles around that little nub and she huffs out breaths like she’s already on the line, like she’s luggin’ coal and metal over her shoulder. 

She lets out that sorta guttural moan that Persephone makes, once he just pressed the pads of his fingers over her clit, once he starts givin’ her exactly what she wants. 

He groans, still thrusting into her, and if he would just stop thinking about his god damned _wife_ then he might be able to come, might be able to get this over with. The way she keeps on clampin’ down on him, he won’t last much, and if the way she’s callin’ out his name, calling to him for absolution, praying to her new god, well.

Puts a man right on the track to that sort of thing. She just wiggles her ass back, with her cheek forced down against the old oak by the sheer weight of Hades on her, pushing her down, claiming every bit of her. Hades dealt in possession, and the girl no longer belonged to that poet-boy, not in any proper sense of the word. 

Hades had taken her, taken her apart bit by bit, and she was about to come on his fingers, if the way her whines were pitching up was anything to go by. Turning to desperate songbird cries as Hades pounded into her.

Didn’t take much longer than that, just clenched down on him and let out a little keen that was more breath than sound. And she don’t make much noise after that, just muffled little sounds as Hades keeps on, just unable to follow her. 

Gods, always been like this-- Persephone’s damn near ruined him. Was a time when back in the summer months he couldn’t reach it, either. Couldn’t do nothin’ to please himself without her help, and my, weren’t she the sweetest thing by carving his name into the earth, in some blasphemous excuse for a prayer, usin’ her voice to get him on through it. Because Persephone always had a direct line through the whole of him, set every nerve alive with just the sound of her voice.

Well, the songbird couldn’t do that, but she could certainly send a prayer to her new god. 

  
She just lets out a frustrated sort of noise, it’s too much, too much to keep goin’ like that, but he doesn’t take to it. Just straightens up a little, and pulls her back by the hair. None too rough, just to keep her from mumblin’ into the desk. 

“Pray for me, songbird.” 

Eurydice huffs out a blessing from the old tongue, a prayer askin’ for good fortune, and it ain’t at all what he wants. He hums, tugs a little harder. “Come now, you can do better than that. Pray to me, songbird.” 

He is perhaps, pulling rank in the worst way possible, bringing up the part of this that makes it just so damn _wrong,_ among other things, but he can’t help himself. Can’t help but want to hear her voice, hear her speak, like he ain’t just comin’ into a warm body while he ignores his wife just on the other side of the door.

Or maybe the graveyard shift has already started. Was nearing the end of the evening shift by the time they got down here. Maybe she opened up early, just to get away from it. He hopes she did, hopes she won’t have to watch the girl wobble out on shaking legs, won’t have to watch him stalk out and begin his rounds over the city.

_"Dis Pater,_ please, give me guidance in your kingdom, give me strength. Harbor me, give me food, give me wealth,” And there it is, that heat in his gut all over again, and he digs his finger into the scarce meat on her bones, making damn near _animalistic_ noises as he ruts into her, furious at her because he did this to himself, had something to prove, needed to show that he was just as virile and had just as many options as Persephone. “Take care of me, deliver me from hunger, from _need_.” Mighty sweet invocation, that is. The sort that makes a man want to do anything to a woman.

  
Hades settles deep inside her, root to tip, groaning as he comes inside her, and he just lurches over her, resting his forehead between her shoulder blades because what in the goddamn hell did he just _do._

He pulls out, mighty quick about it-- no, he can’t look at her right now. Hell, can’t look at _himself._ He sits back onto his office chair with as dignified an air as he can manage, panting for breath that he don't need while she figures herself out, neither of them sure what to do. Tucks himself back into his trousers, because he wasn’t about to sit there, lookin’ as much the fool as he is.

He kicks her little vest from beneath his rattlesnake boots. It’d be disposed of, anyhow. 

When she turns back to face him, she’s still got them big calf eyes studyin’ him, as if trying to piece him together. Silently askin’ for an answer, for Hades had just defiled the most sacred trust between a god and his mortal subjects.

He swallows, and studies her. “Get yourself fixed up and get to the barracks.” Which is the polite way of sayin’ _Get the hell outta my office._ She pulls down her shift, and she picks up her small, dirty vest. Giving it some tiny, worthless dignity as she brushes it off, wrapping it around herself again. 

  
Hades swallows, rubbing at his throat as she stays there. “Are you gonna keep doin’ this?” She asks, and she sounds… Hades doesn’t know how she sounds. Wary. Askin’ a question beneath the question. _Am I gonna get anythin’ out of this?_

“No.” He says, and his voice is hoarse when he does. “Now _get out._ ” And she don’t argue none at that, stumbling out of there like a foal takin’ their first steps, wobblin’ at the knees and the like.

Good.

He didn’t want her back in here.

V

The graveyard shift comes to a draw, and he hears boots on the catwalk to his office. Ain’t no shades that ever come this way, and there’s only one soul in the whole underground who has a vested interest in seeing his balls sliced off with his daddy’s sickle. 

The door shoots open. Slammin’ against the wall when it hits, and if Hades flinches at the noise, it’s not like Persephone sees it. Ain't in any position to point it out, anyhow, seeing as she’s stumblin’ over her own damn feet and grabbin’ onto the doorway for support. She takes another drag from her flask. The most vile piece of metal in the whole of the underworld. 

Hades melted the last one in his foundry, and she got so damn mad that she refused to speak to him for a whole week, ‘till he caved and made her a new one. Because Hades couldn’t bear that, couldn’t bear to be left with only the sound of his thoughts and the sound of her breathing and the sound of her humming to the flowers, and how it would go silent whenever he so much as passed by to get something from the kitchen, because Hades was only a man, a man who wanted to hear his wife’s voice, if nothing else.

“Oh, if it isn’t the great _stud_ of the underground.” She calls, voice raspy and warbled from the drink. “Look at me, losin’ a great big _catch_ like you to some mortal girl!” She squawks it out, mocking him. Was it so bad to be wanted by someone, if his own damn wife couldn’t provide?

“Sorry I wasn’t there to watch you mount your newest conquest, asshole.” She says, stumbling over to the desk, “I was busy taking dick from every single member of your workforce.” He refuses to answer that, because she knew that wasn’t what he meant, when he wondered what her intentions were when she ran off with her procession, when she made a bar that only _he_ couldn’t access. When she only gave goods to mortals and deprived him of so much as a smile. 

His shoulders square off, tryin’ to ignore her. 

It was rare that she might give up on arguing with him, that she might let it go, ‘specially somethin’ like this. “What was she like, Hades? Was she young, and willin’ to do anythin’ you asked of her? Was she mighty _purty_ \--” And Hades now _knows_ she’s makin’ fun of him, makin’ fun of how he used to sound when he was much younger, when she was much younger too, and it’s how her mama still talks, but that weren’t here nor there. 

“Enough.” He hisses, rattlesnake shootin’ out the slightest bit of venom. 

“Maybe, since you’ve been remodellin’ the house every year, you should go on and make a bedroom just for your new beau. Hell, maybe she should sleep in your bed, maybe _I_ should be the one sleepin’ in a guest bedroom, since you wanna be takin’ girls in and out of your office. Gonna instate a brothel district for Hadestown, just so that you can get your kicks and then toss them girls to the side--”

Hades stands at attention then, slamming his big old hands on the desk and makin’ everything on it _jump._ “Now, you’d know a thing or two about tossin’ people to the side, _lover._ Always tossin’ _me_ to the side. Once I stopped bein’ good enough for you, once you stopped _lovin’ me--_ ” And she _howls_ with rage at that, no longer the sad ghost watchin’ Hades, and she’s probably mad at herself for letting him walk away, letting him do what he did. Good, she should be mad at herself.

Loyal man like Hades, would never have _done this_ if he hadn’t been pushed into it. If she hadn’t pushed him away. 

“Just _admit_ you wanted to get your dick wet, you old bastard. Admit that you couldn’t help yourself because you got tired of me, of waitin’ on my hand. You wanted to prove yourself to me, and all you’re doin’ is--”

“What, actin’ the fool?” And she flushes damn near gold when he says that, “Gonna tell me that I’m actin’ the fool when you’re the one stumblin’ about the underworld, too drunk to stand upright?”

And she stares at him for a moment, and her eyes find the shot glasses, knocked over on his desk, then flick to the whiskey, put back nicely on the shelf. 

It’s his favorite whiskey. The only thing she’d never swiped from him, the only thing she’d never even taken a swig from unless he offered it. Respected his things, sometimes. Most times. Was just the unimportant booze that she had sticky fingers for.

She strides towards it, purposeful as he’s ever seen her, or at least as purposeful as she gets when she’s drunk, and she takes it by the neck, holds it in her fist, and takes the cap off. Walks back to where she was, just in the center of his office. Givin’ him a nice view of it. He knows what will happen before it does, and he does nothing.

He understands the ghost Persephone who stood in her garden and silently stared.

She turns the bottle upside-down and pours it all over the floor. 

She studies it, pleased with herself. Job well done. Swishes the sole of her boot through the mess, for good measure.

“Fine.” She says, and Hades can’t read what the hell she was feelin’, can’t hope to fix it; she caps the tumbler and places it on his desk. Turns back around and slams the door shut behind her.

And Hades wants nothin’ more than to play dominoes with his wife.


End file.
